


Monsters

by DiYunho



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Joker fandom, Suicide Squad (2016), The Joker fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DC comics - Freeform, Denial of Feelings, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Feelings, Feels, Heavy Angst, Joker - Freeform, Joker/you - Freeform, Love, Post-Suicide Squad (2016), Suicide Squad, The Joker - Freeform, The Joker Jared Leto, The Joker fanfic, The Joker/you - Freeform, The joker/reader - Freeform, The suicide Squad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiYunho/pseuds/DiYunho
Summary: Monsters are made, not born. Monsters forget they were once loved, nothing in their mind besides darkness and vengeance against the world. Monsters know no remorse, regret or sorrow. Monsters exist inside every person. And they will never disappear.





	Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> You can also follow me on Tumblr. You'll find me under the same blog name: DiYunho.

As soon as you enter the office with your three year old daughter, The Joker signals his henchmen to leave. After the last one exits and the door closes, he gives you a mean glare, definitely not excited about your presence.

“I thought I told you to stay away!” J sneers, tapping his fingers on the glass desk. “Why are you here, hm?” the annoyed tone makes you even more self-conscious about your situation.

“I…I need help…” you gather the courage to speak while Evie clings to your leg, scared by the strange looking man. You protectively hold her close to you with one hand, hoping she won’t start crying: that would certainly irritate The King of Gotham to the point of kicking you both out before you can explain yourself. “It’s not for me, it’s for my little girl,” you quickly add when The Joker rolls his eyes.

“Oh, you need money?” he sarcastically smirks but you know what that smile hides.

“My daughter is sick,” you inform, taking advantage of his momentary silence. “Her medications are very expensive; I work and my insurance covers some costs, but not everything. I only…” and you pause, gulping. “…I only have medications for one more week before she runs out and I don’t know what I’m going to do. Can you please help me? I’ll pay you back,” the desperate mother pleads.

“How? Are you gonna sell your body on the streets?” The Joker bluntly asks.

You really don’t want to be here; it’s so humiliating and you feel out of place.

“I’ll find a way,” you whisper, caressing Evie’s bald head.

The Joker at least realizes you’re not lying; your child does look sick: shaved head, scrawny and pale, wearing a yellow summer dress that accentuates her frail frame.

How would he know how many times you skip meals in order for your daughter to have enough to eat? Or how you struggle to pay the bills and rent, every month one step away from being homeless? How would he know how much you hate being here asking for money when it’s clear he won’t lift a finger to help? You are truly out of options, otherwise you would have gladly used another source. 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend or a husband to share the burden with?” J huffs, interrogating the hopeless parent. “Where’s her father?“

He sees the tears coming down your cheeks and your voice breaks when you answer:

“My husband…passed away… a while ago.”

“Well…” The Joker pretends to debate on the reply he received,” …one mouth less to feed, right?”

You sniffle, reaching for your daughter and lift her up in your arms: your only comfort after the cruel remark.

“Let’s go baby,” you kiss her forehead before she wraps her tiny arms around your neck.

Evie whimpers, staring at the plate full of cookies and strawberries on J’s desk.

“No sweetheart, that’s not ours. Mommy will get you something after we visit daddy at the cemetery, OK?” J hears as you rush out of his office, wondering how you’ll actually going to fulfil the promise since you have only 10 dollars left in your wallet for the rest of the week.

“Don’t let me catch you here again or you’ll regret it!” he shouts and you almost start running down the hallway, afraid he might retaliate.

The Clown Prince of Crime is not happy about your visit; he didn’t see you in years and planned to keep it that way until you showed up today, begging for a meeting; it was dumb to allow you to bother him. He should have told his men to chase you away.

J keeps on pacing around the office for minutes until finally deciding to go for a drive, the only thing that can calm him down at this point.

**************

“Where to, sir?” Frost asks, adjusting the rearview mirror inside his boss’s favorite SUV, the reflection revealing a grouchy Joker in the back seat, definitely in a foul mood. J stretches his legs, indifferently muttering:

“Don’t care, just drive.”

“Yes sir,” Jonny turns left on Gentry Avenue while J glimpses at the busy Gotham from behind the tinted windows allowing him to enjoy freedom during day time also. The ride is smooth and there’s nothing The Clown Prince of Crime envoys more when he feels restless. Frost’s excellent driving makes J close his eyes for a few seconds, relaxing after the earlier unpleasant reunion with his past.

****************

“Y/N…Y/N…” the little boy shakes you, crawling in bed by his older sister.

“What?…” you cover him with your blanket, yawning but not opening your eyes. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“Y-yes,” he whimpers, snuggling to you.

“Here,” you search under your pillow and pull out his favorite toy: a small blue car, the kind you find in cereal boxes. “This keeps the monsters away,” you give it to him and decide to open your eyes. “You forgot it here last night before going to bed, that’s why you had bad dreams.”

“Sissy,” your brother tugs on your hair, using the other to hold the toy to his chest.“When’s mommy coming back?”

“Mommy died, Damian; she’s not coming back,” you bite on your cheek, saddened when he starts sobbing.

“I want my mommy,” the 5 year old rubs his eyes, not understanding why his mother can’t return.

“Me too,” you hug him under the covers, crying because there is no one else to fill the emptiness she left behind; the children only have each other.

“I’m hungry,” Damian pouts after you managed to soothe him.

“We don’t have a lot of food,” you announce, making a mental inventory of what you’ve seen laying around the kitchen. “And daddy didn’t leave us any money.”

Your father would disappear for days, forcing a 12 year old and a 5 year old to fend for themselves. Luckily, your mom’s friend kept an eye on you, aware the two siblings were mostly abandoned in the cheap two bedroom apartment bellow hers.

“But I’m hungry,” your baby brother insists, on the verge of crying again.

His sister attempts to distract him.

“I’m jealous you have mommy’s eyes,” you caress his cheek, that clear blue gaze staring back at you.

“I do?!” Damian curiously scoots over in your arms like it’s the first time hearing the statement.

“Yes, the most beautiful eyes in the world,” and you tickle his sides while the young boy giggles, laughing up a storm under the attack. He tries to fight back without success until the growling tummy reminds him he’s famished.

“Y/N, I’m hungry,” your brother whines after you pinned him under your weight, wiggling to escape the temporary prison.

“Ok,” you sigh, releasing the captive since you don’t have another choice. “We’ll brush our teeth and then we’ll eat, alright?”  
“U-hum,” he smiles, jumping on the bed when you signal him for his favorite: piggyback ride.

“Come on,” you admonish the impatient kid that keeps on hopping on top of the pillows.” Hurry up!” and he finally obeys while you strain to walk with him dangling on your back. “You’re getting heavy,” you complain, heading towards the bathroom.

After the morning routine, you put together a measly breakfast: a little bit of milk and a handful of cereals in two bowls, adding water to multiply the already poor nutrition, but it’s better than nothing.

Damian gets more because you promised mom you’ll take care of him; the unfairness is striking: a child taking care of another child. Yet what choice a dying mother had but to teach her older daughter to tend to herself and the younger sibling the best way she could? Not too many willing to help or to raise someone else’s kids in a district already ravaged by poverty. Nobody cared, including their father.

You’re scarfing down your food, talking to the little boy:

“I’m gonna go and ask Auntie Jenna (your mom’s friend) if she can give me money so I can buy some stuff, OK?”

Your brother’s eyes lit with happiness, hoping he can eat more for dinner. Usually, lunch is skipped if possible, this way the supplies last longer.

“Really?”

“Yes, be good and behave while I’m gone. The grocery store is one hour away and I’ll have to walk there.”

“Can I come?” he smiles, eagerly waiting for your reply.

“No, just finish your breakfast. I’ll be fast,” you get up from your chair, already done snacking.

“OK,” he bounces his legs, anticipating the moment of your return.

Auntie Jenna was able to give you a few dollars, even if she barely had any money herself and a super excited Y/N bought a few basic groceries from the store, including a can of grape juice, which is your sibling’s favorite.

You run upstairs to let the woman know you’re back and she looks puzzled after opening the door.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?! I thought you went away with your dad and your brother.”

“Daddy was here?” the shaky voice inquires and the plastic bag is dropped on the floor by the weakened hands.

“Yes, he took Damian and a few things from the apartment …Hey, where are you going?” she yells when you start running towards your condo, panicking at the dreadful feeling creeping up in your heart.

“Damian?… Damian?…” you call out his name, searching around the small apartment and start crying when you realizes his clothes are gone from the closet, only yours left on the hangers.

“What’s going on?” Jenna follows you, stunned when it hits:

Did that piece of shit just abandoned his daughter here?

“Oh, no!” you gasp when you see the tiny blue car forgotten on the kitchen table. You snatch it and rush outside, running up the street without being able to see too much from the tears clouding your vision.

“Damian! Damian!” you scream and Jenna catches up with you, pulling on your arm in order to stop you.

“Where are you going, Y/N?” she pants and the young girl shows her the toy that was left behind.

“Th-this is for the m-monsters,” you stutter and Jenna gets down on her knees, hugging a terrified little girl that can’t stop trembling in her embrace. “H-he gets scared at night…”

“Sssttt,” she slowly rocks you in her arms. “Don’t cry honey; we’ll find him, alright?”

In the meantime, your little brother’s whining aggravates an already drunk father driving the beat-up van he stole from the other side of town.

“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!” he threatens the 5 year old fidgeting in the front seat by him.

“I want my sister!” Damian sniffles and turns his head towards the bitter parent. “Please daddy, I want my sister!” the boy pleads and the man slams the breaks, fed up with his son’s behavior. “I want my sister!!!!” the painful tone pierces the air and…

Frost suddenly stops the SUV when the car in front of it switches lanes without signaling.

The Joker opens his eyes, abruptly woken up from his dream.

“What the fuck?! “ a grumpy King of Gotham snarls, regaining his grasp on reality.

“Apologies, sir. Some idiots don’t know how to drive,” the trusted henchman patches up the mistake, a bit startled himself. The Joker continues to watch the city from inside the SUV, deep in thought.

“Frost,” he finally opens his mouth after minutes of quietness. “How much money do we have at the warehouse on McCormick Boulevard?”

“Ummm…” Jonny counts in his mind, trying to estimate as close as possible. “Maybe… about a million dollars.”

“I want it in a suitcase, ready to go by the time we arrive,” the order follows and Frost complies, already dialing Nikko’s cell number in order to convey the message.

***************

Getting inside your place was a piece of cake for The Joker; the easiest lock to pick, flimsy and tacky just like the rest of the almost empty building. It’s all you can afford with the hardships you had to endure, one misfortune after the other, fighting to survive like you always did.

How you wish you could have offered your daughter a better life than you ever had! For a while, things were good because you had your husband and even if your baby got sick, the extra paycheck and health insurance were a tremendous help. There was no greater pain than to sink in the same deep hole of poverty after Kent died in a freak accident at work; not a lot of options but to try and make it somehow.

J cautiously enters the apartment, so small and crammed it gives out a claustrophobic vibe: a tiny kitchen with a table and two chairs, no other furniture around. The moldy smell almost makes The Joker sneeze as he opens the cracked door to the only bedroom not having enough space for more than a bed you share with Evie. He notices another door behind the bed, probably the bathroom.

You and your little girl are asleep, exhausted after walking to the cemetery and back home, not having enough money for a taxi.

The Joker quietly opens the fridge: not too much food in there, the pink wrapping surrounding the blueberry muffins you bought for Evie making him bite his lip. He’s very familiar with that color that marks bakery items about to be thrown away, sold at discounted prices a day before their expiration date. He yanks the sweet treats out of the shelf and stashes them in the garbage can, mad without knowing why: the truth is they remind him of things he doesn’t want to remember.

He closes the fridge, glaring at the pictures under the magnets: memories made with your husband and daughter, the ultrasound image from when you found out you were pregnant, the last card your husband gifted you for your birthday before he passed away, Evie’s drawings and an old photo of a 10 years old Y/N, tightly holding a 3 years old Damian in her arms like he was the most precious treasure on the planet.

And he really was.

A long time ago…

*****************

“What the hell is she doing here???!!!” The Joker shouts from behind the bars keeping the detainee confined inside the lower level of Arkham prison.

You look completely terrified, not having seen such violence and chaos in your entire existence.

His men came to get him out after he was captured six months ago during a very ambitious heist at the Wayne mansion: the guy was loaded and The Joker couldn’t stay away from such opportunity.

When you found the suitcase full of money on your kitchen table, you knew exactly who left it there, yet the note on top of it made it difficult to reconnect with the estranged relative:

Come near me again and you’re dead!

And still, here you are, risking your life to see J, aware this is the only chance you’ll ever get.

“Why is she here???!!” he growls while you seem frozen, petrified from what you have witnessed so far.

The goons are working to get their leader out, the electric saw already cutting through the thick bars.

“She paid for the extra mercenaries and insisted we take her with us,” one of them replies, commanding a large group of hired guns to swipe the premises and make sure the area is cleared for takeoff.

“She did what??!!” The Joker growls, approaching the bars and you gulp, jumping each time you hear an explosion. He gestures you to come closer and you drag your feet towards a pissed inmate. “Are you fucking stupid?!” J sneers, intensifying your anxiety.“Take her away before I strangle her myself!!!” the harsh sentence makes you snap out of trance and speak up:

“I…I wanted to thank you for…”

One of his people grabs your hand and you slap it, fighting to stay close to the bars.

“Get lost, Y/N, you don’t belong here! You have no idea what you’re doing!” J rests his forehead against the cold metal and he’s right: you have no idea what’s happening or how to handle these crazy events.

“For you, little brother,” you whisper, taking the tiny blue car out of your pocket and returning it to its owner after so many years. “To keep the monsters at bay,” you close his fist and he frowns, hissing:

“Your brother is dead!”  
“My brother is not dead,” you sadly smile through tears and kiss the tattooed knuckles wrapped around the toy before J can reject his sister’s affection.

He backs out, his men moments away from releasing him.

“Frost!!!!” The Joker yells when the latest emerges from the dark corridor. “I want her out of here! NOW!!!”

You know you won’t be able to fight his will and comply, following Jonny’s lead as he’s guiding you towards an escape route outside Block D.

*****************

Your daughter had a hard time getting used to her uncle, but after you two moved at the Penthouse, things slowly improved. She’s always amazed there is so much food around, brand new clothes and toys. Evie’s medications are expensive, but purchasing them is not an issue anymore; she even gained a little bit of weight and it makes you happy to see your child feeling better.

“Honey, you need to take your pills,” you walk out on the balcony where a playful little girl is having fun in her own inflatable pool.

“Ok mommy,” she gets out of the water and you lift her up, making sure to wipe the liquid on your way in with a towel: The Joker doesn’t like his carpets stained.

“You want some ice cream?”

Her eyes get big: the same clear blue as her uncle’s.

“Yes mommy,” she smacks her lips with anticipation and you bump into the glass coffee table, almost knocking down the center piece: an old photograph of a 10 years old Y/N and a 3 years old Joker, lovingly held by his sister.

He really was the most precious treasure to her.

A long time ago…

And he remembered.


End file.
